


I've Never Fallen From Quite This High

by K0bot



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Canonical Attempted Suicide, I had to get this out before season 5 comes out and ruins all my dreams, klangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 11:50:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13833660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K0bot/pseuds/K0bot
Summary: Keith and Lance get some feelings out, post season 4, pre season 5.





	I've Never Fallen From Quite This High

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of feelings after that spoilery Lance promo and I've never written a one shot, so I figured I'd give it a shot. *finger guns* 
> 
> My next multi-chapter fic is such a crazy mess I'm not sure when I'll start posting it, so maybe some one shots will happen while I'm figuring that out?
> 
> Anyway sorry this is short and dumb, thanks for reading!

 

 

 

Being home again is weird.

It’s weird because he thinks of it as home.

It’s weird because even though he still feels like he doesn’t belong, he can’t bring himself to so much as consider leaving again.

It’s weird because for a second there, he thought he wouldn’t ever see it again. Wouldn’t ever walk down the sterile-but-welcoming hallways, swim in the stupid upside-down pool, train against a gladiator, sit on the observation deck watching the universe float by. Wouldn’t ever get to taste Hunk’s latest recipe by virtue of being the closest person around. Wouldn’t ever help Pidge hold up a particularly unwieldy piece of electronics while she hunted for the screw she’d dropped underneath it. Wouldn’t ever spar with Shiro, or listen to another one of Coran’s crazy stories, or find a moment of quiet solitude with Allura while the mice put on a show.

Wouldn’t ever— 

 

Well.

 

Wouldn’t ever do a lot of things.

 

Because he thought he’d be dead.

 

 

 

Anyway, being home is weird.

 

It’s only been a few days, really, and they’ve all felt tense. Everyone on the castle-ship knows what he almost did, and they’ve all had their own unique reactions to it. Allura, Coran and Shiro are just quietly glad things ended the way they did. Pidge yelled at him for a long time, beating her comparatively tiny fists against his chest and crying tears of fury, trying to punch the idea of ever trying something like that again out of his head. Hunk has been baking non-stop, and pulls Keith into a hug almost every time he walks by.

Lance…

 

He doesn’t want to think about Lance.

If he’s being honest, he’s been trying to forget about Lance since the moment he left to join the Blade full-time. The last thing he needs is all that devotion he doesn’t deserve, and the last thing he wants is all the indignation he does. It’s hard enough to be home.

 

But of course, just because his head knows something is a bad idea, that doesn’t mean his feet get the memo.

And so Keith finds himself slipping into the training room, clinging to the outskirts and watching as Lance takes on an unreasonable number of enemies. Keith is just starting to get concerned when the blue paladin materializes a god damn broadsword, dispatching the targets firing on him quickly and cleanly, and then he is just… amazed. Lance has always been kind to the eyes, but now he looks like some sort of knight—tall and strong and capable. 

_No_ —Keith thinks to himself—a knight is too base, doesn’t match the proud jut of his bronzed chin, doesn’t do justice to the regal line of his blade as it extends from his body in one fine stroke. No, Lance looks like a prince, ready to inspire his subjects. Ready to command an army from the front lines. Ready to stand as his sovereign falls. Ready to be King.

“Your form looks good,” Keith coughs pathetically, incapable of keeping his mouth shut now that he’s here. Lance hasn’t so much as looked at him since he came back, and Keith has tried to keep his distance. He really has. But he is simply a helpless satellite, and the sun is so close.

Lance’s head snaps up at the compliment, brow furrowed slightly. He straightens, dematerializes his bayard, runs a hand through his hair. Keith’s fingers twitch with the desire to carve their own path through the silky-looking strands, and he clenches them into fists. 

He does not deserve to _want._

“I’m done, if you want to train,” Lance says flatly, and Keith’s heart clenches.

“No I’m, I just…” He tries to explain his presence in a way that doesn’t belie his honest reasons, but nothing comes to mind. “I just wanted to see how you were doing,” he admits tiredly.

Lance frowns harder, just like Keith knew he would, and the former red paladin melts a little with the rejection. “Well, I’m fine, as you can see,” Lance says sharply, and Keith finds he can see exactly how deep that particular lie runs. Despite Keith’s hesitance and Lance’s anger, they’ve drifted close, like magnets, like twin stars with terminal orbits, and Keith could reach out and touch the dark circles under Lance’s eyes if he wanted. 

He doesn’t mention them.

“I can’t believe you’ve mastered three bayard forms,” he says instead, unable to keep the awe out of his voice. Lance has been working so hard, has always been trying so hard.

“Keith,” Lance pleads, voice quiet.

Keith suddenly can’t meet his eyes, can only look at the shapely gloved hand he’s suddenly holding with both of his own. The training room is quiet, reverberating with each small sound they make—a boot scuff, a quick breath, a hard swallow.

The words he wants to say get drawn out of his mouth like poison, and he knows they will sting Lance even as his own chest feels lighter.

“The black lion should have chosen you instead of me. You’re amazing, Lance.”

A beat of silence, and then— 

 

_”Don’t.”_

 

It comes out broken, but firm as iron and sharp as a laser. Keith lets go of the hand he’d stolen like he’s been shocked.

Slowly, stutteringly, he manages to meet Lance’s eyes, and the molten gaze he finds there burns him.

“Don’t,” Lance growls, “don’t you dare.”

Keith is crashing, can no longer maintain altitude, doesn’t know how to correct course. “I… don’t what?” He asks pathetically, hands twitching to hold the gloved one they dropped again.

Lance’s hands clench into fists, one of them finding its way to Keith’s collar, holding him up, close and uncomfortable. Lance looks like he’s about to cry, but also like he might beat Keith within an inch of his life, and Keith asks himself for the millionth time how he ever thought he could live without that intensity in his life.

“Do you even know how long I’ve been chasing you?” Lance asks, furious. He doesn’t give Keith room to answer, merely barrelling on, “Since the moment I first saw you fly. You were perfect, and then you tested highest in the class in everything, and all I wanted was to catch up, so you would _see me_.” He shakes the fist holding Keith up a little, and Keith finds he can’t look away from the emotion building in the blue paladin’s eyes, can’t even blink for fear of missing something.

“I just wanted you to see me,” Lance whispers harshly, mouth moving mere inches from Keith’s own lips. “And now, what, you give up?”

The floor falls out from under Keith, and he draws in a harsh, rattling breath.

“You give up,” Lance accuses. Keith burns. “Shiro should have the black lion. _I_ should have the black lion. The universe is better with you away, alone, part of a team that would abandon you as soon as you became a liability. The universe is better with us alive and whether or not you're in the picture is irrelevant. Isn’t that right?”

Actual tears are falling down Lances cheeks, and still Keith can’t look away, even as the fire in those eyes consumes him.

Lance takes a deep, shaky breath—releases the grip he has on Keith’s collar. Doesn’t move to let any distance between them. He opens his mouth again, fortified.

“I’ve been chasing you all this time, so you can’t stop running. Don’t let all the work I’ve done be for nothing.”

Keith isn’t sure when he started crying, but a drop falls from his chin, startling him, and for a moment all he can do is stare at the wet dot on the pristine training room floor.

 

Why is Lance always right? How does he always _know_?

 

“I’m sorry,” he tries, voice cracking, and suddenly Lance’s hand is on his shoulder, soft and supportive. His chest hurts. “I’m sorry,” he tries again, managing to look Lance in the eyes this time. Tears are still falling unabashedly from those ocean orbs, and all at once Keith knows he can’t ever be this stupid again. He leans forward to drop his forehead on Lance’s uncomfortably armored shoulder.

“I’d follow you anywhere,” Lance admits softly, one hand softly combing through Keith’s hair, the other sliding around his shoulders to hold him close. His words hang heavy with truth, “don’t try to leave me behind again.”

“Okay,” is all Keith manages, but as Lance exhales a relieved breath, tightening his embrace, he thinks just maybe, that might be enough.


End file.
